The Struggle is Real
by Steefwaterbutter
Summary: Shawn's solved impossible cases before. But he's never really tried solving one while kidnapped. There's also a catch. If he doesn't solve it, he'll probably get shot. If he solves it... well, he might get shot anyway. But then there's the third option: taking off on his captor's abused horse. There's just one problem. How do you do horses again? T for injuries.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers! So, a couple weeks ago, I found this wonderful TV show, Psych. OH MY GOSH, I'M IN LOOOOOVE. So of course I started looking up fanfics to read and planning my own._

 _I know there's a few kidnapping fics out there, and even an episode with Shawn getting kidnapped, but almost all just seemed too... easy (I mean, in that episode, the guy lets him make a freaking phone call!). So, I set out to write a fic where the struggle would be real. With a horse thrown in. Becuase, I freaking love horses, and why the heck not?! :D_

 _This takes place around season 2, which is where I was when I wrote this fic. And I haven't gotten past season 3 yet (besides that one season 4 episode) so no spoilers!_

 _I also learned a lot of stuff while making this fic, from what to do if your kidnapped (Wikihow) to medical advice from my aunt, who's a nurse._

 _Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

It was a hot Tuesday afternoon when Shawn first saw her. He had actually been having a pretty good day so far, breakfast with Gus in the Psych office, a walk down the pier eating ice cream, and now, lunch at the cafe at about... 4 o'clock. It was nearly empty, the only other customers an elderly couple who couldn't stop bickering about something or another. Maybe a lawnmower?

Shawn gave a quiet groan as the door swung open, letting in a wave of heat. He took another bite of his burger, wondering why no one had ever suggested putting pineapple as a topping. After all they did it with pizza? So why not burgers?

"Hey there."

Shawn looked up and swiped a hand across his face to get rid of a glob of ketchup. A smile creased his lips. "Hey."

A young woman had just slid onto the chair across him. Despite the heat, she was dressed in a dark, smart-looking business coat that accented her curves nicely, Shawn had to admit. A pile of papers with the words "THE THIEF'S DAWN" printed across the top of each page was clutched in her sweaty hands. Her long dark red hair tumbled about her freckled face as she stuffed the papers in her bag, seeming not to noatice how crumpled they were getting. The woman closed the bag with a loud snap and let out a loud huff, slumping forward to rest her chin in her hand. The sunlight from the window almost made her hair look like fire.

"You would not believe the day I've been having," she muttered, her gaze flicking towards Shawn.

"Your manuscript get rejected again?"

The woman jerked upright, her eyes wide. "H-how did you know?"

Shawn let loose a wide smirk tapping his temple knowingly. "I'm a psychic."

"Really now. You?"

"Hey, haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'Don't judge a book by it's cover'?" Shawn said. "Uh, sorry."

"No, no, it's fine," she said, but her smile dropped. "Anyway, I'm sorry, I don't think I've properly introduced myself. My name is Brienne."

"I'm Shawn. And you're new to this town."

"Now, how'd you divine that?" Brienne asked, looking at him with teasing eyes.

"Well, you obviously haven't heard of the famous SBPD psychic Shawn Spencer. Been working there for almost a year now, figured out quite a few cases for them. The only thing I can't figure out is why they would turn down a manuscript from such a pretty, talented young woman such as yourself."

Brienne simply blushed.

They talked for almost an hour, first in the cafe, and then just walking down the pier. The sun beat down mercilessly, but the ocean spray was cool and refreshing. At first Shawn was the one asking most of the questions, some of which Brienne answered, and some which she just raised her eyebrows at. But as time when on, she grew more talkative, telling Shawn all about her dreams of one day becoming a journalist or novelist. She also asked him all sorts of questions about his job, his agency, the cases he'd worked on and how he solved them, was he really psychic?

"Well," Shawn finally said. "I'd better be getting back, or Gus is going to have my head for 'slacking off' during a case. Here's my number, and the address of my office, Psych, in case you've got a little something that needs to be solved." He wiggled his eyebrows and Brienne laughed.

"Oh, wait a second." She held up a hand and dug around in a bag with the other. She pulled out a piece of paper, scribbled something on it, and looked away, blushing. "In case you... ever want to, y'know." She thrust it into his hands, then nearly took off down the pier.

Shawn turned the small scrap of paper over. On it was her phone number, and the words _call me._

Score.

* * *

"So how long have you two been dating again?" Gus asked.

Shawn spared his friend a sideways glance before returning his gaze to the road. "Eh, almost a week now."

"And you didn't tell me... why?"

"You never asked. We're kinda taking it slow, nice and easy, y'know?" Shawn flipped on the blinker, pulling into the Santa Barbra police office parking lot.

"Look, Shawn." Gus held up a hand. "I'm happy for you and all that, but since we started Psych, how many of your girlfriends have turned out to be involved in some shady case? Murders, thieves..."

Shawn snorted as he swung open the car door, the stench of baking asphalt rising up to greet him. "Gus, don't be such a half-baked slice of blueberry pie. We've been dating for a whole week. I think that's a new record. And come on, yours have been all perfect? Remember the not-dead-guy's wife?

"But this one? She's nice, really sweet. Plus, she has absolutely nothing to do with the case we're working on right now." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm really craving a smoothie right now. Pineapple mango, preferably. We should pick one up on the way back."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Shawn," Gus said with a sigh, slamming the car door shut behind him.

* * *

Shawn burst into Lassiter's office, gasping for breath. "Lassie, L-lassieface, I'm getting something." He inhaled sharply, then stepped back as his eyes landed on none other than Brienne. "Bree?"

"Oh hey, Shawn." She greeted him in that soft voice of hers, raising her hand in a small wave. "I was just explaining some things to Detective Lassiter here. About the case you're working on. Turns out, apparently I was a witness." She gave a small laugh. "Who knew?"

Gus elbowed fake psychic could almost hear his _"I told you so."_

"She was in the middle of her statement, before I was so rudely interrupted," Lassiter said, giving him a look that clearly said: _Get out. Now._

Shawn simply grinned. Perfect. Just the woman to see his magnificent skills in action.

"Well, Lassie, you just never know when-" he stopped, lurching forward, gulping down air.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Brienne said, raising a hand to her mouth.

"He's fine," Lassiter said.

"I known who did it, I know who murdered him," Shawn gasped. There's a man. Long, tangled brown hair, a long scar down his cheek. About six foot... even? S... C... starts with a - He's grabbing me." His hand flew to his throat. "Pushing me down, pushing my head underwater, c-can't - breathe - can't-" Shawn collapsed to his knees, struggling to draw breath, both hands at his throat now. After several struggling seconds his hands dropped, and he heaved in a huge breath, coughing and hacking. Man, his throat was going to hurt tomarrow.

"Incredible," Gus said, who had been watching from the corner.

Shawn felt a warmth tingle through his limbs, and he had to keep himself from bursting into a grin. _Good old Gus. Always got my back._

But Lassiter simply shook his head. "That can't be. Miss Anderson's report here doesn't mention a man with a scar anywhere. It does, however mention a Robert Nicolson, who I have to say as a questionable alibi and a strong motive."

A tickle of cold burst in Shawn's stomach. No, that wasn't right, that couldn't be right. Everything he had found pointed to the man, Stephen Conners. The fake psychic dropped his gaze, his mind flicking over the steps he had taken. Had he read one of the clues wrong?

"But..."

"Maybe you just go mixed up," Brienne said. "A different spirit or something."

"Sorry, Spencer," Lassiter tossed the file down in front of him. His tone was anything but apologetic. "Sometimes we just have to take hard evidence over... questionable psychics."

Shawn frowned, chewing on his lip. For once, he didn't know what to say.

* * *

Shawn scrubbed a towel over his face, feeling the still-warm metal of the handlebar underneath his other palm. He leaned his bike against the wall of the office and glanced over at the rain beating down onto the windowpanes of Psych. Yep, there was no way he was riding home in that. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't crashed here before.

Droplets of water flew from his hair as he shook his head, then scrubbed it vigorously with the now-damp towel. With a sigh he flicked off the lights and collapsed on the couch, pulling the ratty old blanket over himself. The smell of must and sweat reached his nose, and he made a mental note to make a trip to the laundromat sometime soon. Or just ask Gus to clean it.

The rain outside beat a pleasant rhythm against the pane, thunder grumbled like a old, deaf cat. Shawn closed his eyes, letting his mind drift over the now-closed case. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Brienne's statement still bothered him. It had to be Steve, who else could it be?

The first knock was almost lost in the beating of the rain. Shawn groaned and threw an arm over his face. Couldn't they see he was closed?

The knock came again. And then again, and again. Someone was banging on the door with all their might.

"Shawn! P-please, let me in!"

Shawn bolted upright, throwing the blanket to the floor. The door swung open, and there stood Brienne, arms wrapped around herself, her wet clothes clinging to her shivering body. Her shoes were covered in mud, and leaves were tangled into her hair. Her hands were scratched.

For a moment, Shawn just stared at her, his expression blank. Then he jerked. "Bree. Um. Come in."

He stepped aside and she hurried through the open doorway to sink down on the couch. Shawn flicked on a lamp, then handed her the blanket, which she took with a quiet "Thank you."

"Hey, no problem," Shawn said, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders. "But... uh, what's wrong? What were you doing out in the woods?"

"Someone was chasing me," Brienne whispered, seeming not to notice his "divination". "I-I think it was that man you mentioned earlier. The one with the scar."

"I knew it," Shawn muttered. "Why would he be chasing you, though?"

"I d-don't know. M-maybe some-something I said? At the police station?" Her voice lifted ever so slightly to form the question, her perfect lips curving. Shawn had to resist the urge to reach over and kiss her, and opted to squeeze her hand instead.

"Please." She lifted her eyes, bright with tears, to meet his. His heart thumped. "Can... can I have some water?"

Shawn blinked. Um. Well. That was a bit anticlimactic.

"Sure." The fake psychic heaved himself to his feet with a groan and stepped over to the small sink at the other end of the room. He grabbed a cup and began filling it with water, letting his eyes drift to sink handle. At that moment, a bolt of lightning flashed, turning the sink into a mirror. In that mirror, he saw the blurry form of Brienne standing behind him, something shiny clutched in her hands.

Shawn turned.

In that moment, something seemed to shift. Brienne drew herself up. All the kindness, all the softness seemed to drain away, leaving a face that was burning, with a curled lip, narrowed eyes. In her hands was a syringe. Shawn's heart dropped all the way to the floor.

Slowly, he began backing away, holding up a hand. "Um... Bree? What are you doing?"

"This might hurt," she said.

And she stabbed the needle into his arm. White fog began to clog his brain, everything began twisting before his eyes. Shawn's legs dropped underneath him, his head smacked into something hard, but he barely felt the impact. Then the ground tilted, and something wacked his side, driving what little air he had left out out of his body. Since when did everything come in pairs?

Then Shawn saw _her,_ syringe still held tightly in her hands, looking ready to stab him again. Shawn threw his arms over his head and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact.

It never came.

The floor melted beneath him, and he fell.

* * *

 _A/N: Rveiews always make my day! I always love seeing what people think. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: The beginning of this chapter is probably my favorite part of the story. It took me right back to when I was a kid, playing that the mashed potatoes were a fortess, protectected by the pea solidiers._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _1984_

"Now Shawn."

Shawn looked up from where he was stirring his peas into the mountain of mashed potatoes, filled with deadly gravy lava. "What?"

His father cleared his throat. "I had a case today. Involved a kidnapping. So, I thought it's about high time I told you what to do about kidnapping. Number one: don't."

"Don't what?" Shawn asked.

"Don't get kidnapped."

"Oh. Okay, then." Shawn pushed a pea closer to the gravy. It's fate was inevitable. It must dive into the deadly pool of gravy. It was the only way to save-

"Shawn, stop playing with your food and listen. I wasn't done. Two, if you _do_ get kidnapped, don't panic. Stay calm, use your head. Three, keep track of time. Use the sun, find a watch, something."

"Dad, I'm not going to get kidnapped."

"You never know what might happen, son. Four, empathize with your kidnapper."

"What's that mean? Em-pa-thi-ze." Shawn tested the word out.

"Find out if you have anything in common. Ask them for small favors, remind them that you're still a human. Get them to bond with you, if possible. And five." His father pointed his fork from across the table. "Don't try to escape until the time is right."

* * *

He couldn't breathe.

He was drowning. Someone was trying to drown him.

Shawn shook his head and spit out a mouthful of water, coughing. He tried to raise an arm to wipe his mouth, but something was holding it back.

As the water began draining down his body, soaking his clothes for the second time, a dull itch of sorts began forming inside his skull, growing worse and worse until it was an all-out banging with the force of a sledgehammer. The fake psychic moaned, wanting to reach up with both hands to squeeze out his brain. But they were stuck behind him, like he'd somehow gotten into a fight with a bottle of superglue and lost. No, not superglue. Duct tape.

He sniffed, catching the faintest whiff of blood. He could feel it trickling down the side of his face, probably ruining his perfect hair.

Wait, what had happened again? A hangover? Date gone wrong?

"Good morning, psychic."

Shawn's eyes snapped open, an action he immediately regretted. White-hot pain lashed across his already aching head. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, forcing the tears back. He couldn't even remember the last time he had cried, and he sure wasn't about to do it now.

 _Stay calm. Don't panic. Breathe._

"Morning already?" Shawn asked, cracking an eye open. Slowly, ever so slowly, his vision began to sharpen. He could just make out a watch strapped to Brienne's wrist, the green numbers blinking 6:34. Had he really been out for that long?

He opened his eyelid a fraction wider, scanning over her. She was dressed in a loose blouse and jeans, her arms folded. Her hair was clean, and pulled back from her expressionless face into a braid, but her shoes were speckled with mud and bits of green. A small handgun rested at her hip.

They were in a basement of sorts, no windows, and a rickety-looking staircase leading up. The concrete walls and floor were bare and the only other thing in the room was a few cardboard boxes huddled in a corner. A single, naked lightbulb swung from a chain. All that was missing was the metal interrogation table.

"So, what did I do this time?" Shawn asked. His words came slower than usual, each one seeming to pause before he pushed it out of his mouth. "Did I miss our anniversary? I mean, we've only been dating for what, a week now?"

"I need you to solve a case for me."

"Bree. You could have just asked. Spare the"-he closed his eyes and took a small breath-"might I say, extremely painful headache?"

Brienne shook her head. The slightest hint of apology crept into her voice as she said, "You would've just said no."

"You know," Shawn said, his eyes locking onto hers. "I'm getting the feeling you're not a writer at all. That manuscript was just something to grab my interest. And you, you never saw that Robert Nicolson. You never were chased by ol' scarface Steve." Shawn looked up at her, putting on his best impression of a kicked puppy. "Lies, all lies."

"And you fell head over heels for it. I have to admit, I make a pretty good actress, even though I hated every minute of it." Her voice took on a shadow of what it once was, kind, soft. "Oh Shawn, you're so clever, solving all those cases, oh, how do you do it? Oh, _Shawn,_ you're so _cute._ "

She reached up a hand to brush her fingers over the side of his head, over where the boiling pain was centered. Her face twitched into the ghost of a smirk. "Though I have to admit, even bruised up as you are, you're still kind of cute."

Her fingers were cold, and Shawn leaned away. A small shudder of pain ran through him and he wanted more than ever to reach up and squeeze out his brain.

"But the thing I'm not so sure of is if you're really psychic, or if you're just... observant."

"I'm psychic enough to know that we're in a forest right now. Seriously though, what is it with you and being in forests?"

"It's quiet," Brienne said. "No one bothers me."

"Well, anyway, I did sense some dark shadow about you. But I thought it must have been something from your past. I wanted to give you a chance, I really did," Shawn said with a heavy sigh.

Inwardly, though, a tight knot of frustration was forming in his stomach. Stupid, stupid. He should have known something was up when she showed up, dripping and bedraggled at his doorstep, but she'd just looked so... pitiful.

"Whatever. Psychic or not, I need your help finding someone."

"Let me guess... Scarface Steve?"

Brienne nodded. "I owed him a favor."

"Oh... so that's why you shifted the blame to Robert," Shawn said, raising his shoulder to wipe the trickling blood off his cheek and onto his plaid shirt. "To get him off the hook."

"I had a chance, I took it. Unfortunately, Stephen's gone missing. Freaked out, probably, and disappeared off the map. If I can't find him, I can't let him know his favor's done: the case is closed and Robert's in jail."

"And what's to keep me from reopening it?"

Brienne didn't answer. Instead she shifted her gaze away from him, hand twitching towards her gun.

Every muscle in his body tensed and he let out a overly dramatic groan.

 _Stay calm. Don't panic_.

"Aw, Bree, c-c'mon," he said, hating the slight tremor in his voice. "You're not going to just _shoot_ me afterwards, are you? I mean, the kidnapping's bad enough but-"

Her hand shot down and yanked the handgun from it's holster, twirling it around and around in her fingers. "I would greatly appreciate you choosing to cooperate. It will make things so much easier for the both of us."

The hammer clicked back, the gun was raised. Shawn's heartbeat skidded.

The fake psychic tried to jerk his hands up, but just ended up ramming them into the back of the chair.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. This was usually the moment where he brilliantly explained the mystery: revealing, how, when, where and why to the criminals who already knew those things. Stalling. Buying time until the police arrived.

Except this time the police probably had no idea where he was.

"Uh," Shawn said. He couldn't think of anything else to say. Thinking hurt. "Um, Bree, you don't want to shoot a psychic. It's, um, it's bad luck."

Brienne flatly ignored his pitiful plea. Her hand held steady.

"You know, psychic," she said, "I guess a part of me was hoping you'd say no, just so I could see the look on your face when I did-"

She fired the handgun at his leg. Fire exploded in his thigh. Pain. He couldn't see. His mind shuddered. _Pain._

"-this."

This time he couldn't stop the tears of agony from spilling out of his eyes. For a few moments, he could see nothing, feel nothing but the molten lava streaming down his leg.

Then came the sweet, sweet feeling of nothingness.

* * *

Shawn was stumbling up the steps to Juliet's house. With a low moan he fell against the door, then raised a shaking hand to pound on the wood.

After a second or two, his means of support swung open and Shawn pitched forward on his hands and knees in her doorway. Face burning, Shawn grabbed onto the frame and pulled himself up, muttering an apology.

Then Shawn felt her touch on his shoulder and all the tension seemed to stream out of his body. Juliet. He let his back slump against the frame, a long, deep breath escaping his mouth.

"Hey Jules."

"Shawn." Her eyes were soft as she raised a hand to brush his hair back. Her touch was nothing like Brienne's; her fingers were bursting with warmth. They soothed away the pain, the brokenness, healing him.

"C'mon," she said, her voice like gentle rain after a long drought.

Juliet slipped a hand behind his back, helping him stand on unsteady feet. With her help, Shawn stumbled through the doorway, into the warm arms of her house.

The couch was waiting for him, and Shawn sank down, breathing in the scent of leather and musty blankets as he closed his eyes. He heard the creak as Juliet sat down next to him, rubbing her hand up and down his arm.

"Shawn," she said. "You know this isn't real."

"I wish it was," he mumbled.

"I'm not sure if we'll be able to find you in time." Juliet's fingers tightened around his arm. "You need to get out of there."

* * *

Shawn jerked back into painful reality, Juliet's warning still echoing through his mind. By this point, the pounding in his head had died down a bit, but a fire still raged in his upper leg. He felt weak, drained.

Though his eyes were opened, blackness still covered him. His feet were touching cold concrete. Brienne had blindfolded him and stolen his shoes. Perfect.

 _"I don't know if we'll be able to find you in time._ _You need to g_ _et out of there."_

Would they be able to find him? The rain probably washed away any tracks. There was the fact that him and Brienne had been dating, and she most likely disappeared at the same time as him but with her foresty hermit lifestyle, she probably didn't leave too big of a footprint in the records book.

Well, at least he hadn't bled out. Yet.

Maybe she had a phone upstairs. Maybe he could call someone. Shawn squirmed, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to do _something_. He couldn't just sit and wait for his captor to get back. He had to get out of there.

Shawn took a breath, scooted forward to the edge of the chair, then raised his hands and slammed then down with all his strength, which wasn't much. The tape ripped.

"Why does everyone forget to mention just how much that stings?" Shawn muttered to himself, and brought his hands forward to rip off the blindfold, this time remembering to keep his eyes closed.

Pink flooded through his eyelids, though the pain in his head decided not to flare. Instead he felt nauseous. Shawn raised a hand to touch the side of his head, where she'd hit him. He could feel the crusty dried blood beneath his fingers, and jerked them away, pulling a face.

He raised a hand to shade his eyes, and glanced down at where she'd shot him. A square had been cut out from his ruined jeans, and his thigh had been covered in a bloodstained bandage. So Brienne cared enough about him, or this case, that she didn't want him to die, but she sure didn't have much of an issue with shooting him.

His ankles were also duct taped, so he put his palms together and shoved down, forcing his legs apart. His leg screamed at the movement, small as it was.

He didn't even want to know what going up the stairs would be like.

Shawn gritted his teeth, grabbed the back of the chair and heaved himself up, a movement that left him gasping. The legs of the chair screeched against the concrete as he dragged it along with him, using it as a sort of makeshift crutch.

He took a step towards the stairs, then turned to the cardboard boxes by the edge of the wall. The first he looked at was filled with packing peanuts and a small crumpled ball. Shawn carefully smoothed it out, glancing over the small photo. On the back was written: "To my two favorite females: Midnight and Katie."

Shawn frowned and turned the picture over. A large black horse with a thin white stripe down its face and numerous scars all over its body was being held by a slightly younger Brienne, or Katie, he supposed. Her face was lit up in a smile, and standing next to her was what looked like a young man. It was difficult to tell, because the picture had been smeared by something. He could just make out the dark red hair and bright green eyes, same as Bri-uh, Katie. Her brother, most likely.

Shawn carefully put the photo back and shut the box. For a second he simply stood there, chewing on his lip. That man. He looked familiar, but from where?

A quick dig through the rest of the boxes, showed him nothing of interest, just more packing peanuts, so he dragged himself over to the stairs. His face twisted into a grimace.

 _Do I have to?_ he asked himself.

The answer was inevitable. _Yes._

The fake psychic reached up a hand to grab the railing and hauled his heavy, aching body up the first step. The wood scraped against his bare feet.

 _"I just wanted to see the look on your face."_

Shawn stumbled. The railing slipped out of his sweaty hands, and his knees banged hard against the edge of the step. For a second he closed his eyes, pushing his mind towards other things.

 _When I get back, I'm going to have Lassieface make me the biggest pineapple smoothie in all of Santa Barbara. I bet the guy's so worried about me he'll do anything for me when I get back. Gus won't get mad at me for at least a week, no matter what I do and Juliet... well, she'll be so relieved I'm back I just might get a free hug._

Sometime later, he didn't know how much later, Shawn pulled himself over the last step, panting. He could feel sweat soaking his shirt under his arms and on the back of his neck. His breath jerked in and out of his throat, and his vision smeared slightly. He felt like crap.

"Man," he said to the empty room. "I must be really out of shape. We should get an exercise bike for the Psych office, maybe a treadmill."

With a groan, Shawn heaved himself up with the help of a counter. It looked like he was in Bree's kitchen. Soft, natural light poured from a window with white curtains. A clock hung on the wall, the time showing about 1 o'clock. There were no pictures, but Shawn could just make out the darkened squares and rectangles on the wall where they had once hung. Fruit was piled in a basket: apples, oranges and bananas, but sadly no pineapples.

And no phone. C'mon, there had to be a phone somewhere. Or at least a pair of shoes. Shawn glanced out the window and saw trees, trees everywhere. A small rickety stable and pasture was located near the house, but he couldn't see a garage or car anywhere. Maybe it was attached to the house.

After taking one more glance around, Shawn began opening cupboards and drawers, his gaze flicking over the various contents. Most were empty, or just had silverware or plates or-

Something slammed into the back of his knees, and his legs crumpled. His arms flew out a catch himself, and his palms smacked down hard against the tiled floor. His face followed a second later.

"Really, psychic. Weren't you listening when I told you about the whole cooperation thing? Because you seem to be acting very uncooperative."

* * *

 _A/N: S_ _orry about the lack of references to obscure 80s films from Shawn. In all the episodes I've watched, I only recognized on reference: Holes. And I've seen a bit of Footloose a long time ago. I guess I've seen The Man from Snowy River, but that was ages ago, and I barely remember anything from the movie. I literally only remember the last line "He's not a boy, he's a man. The man from Snowy River." XD_

 _Anyway, don't forget to leave a review on the way out!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: M_ _e and my sister tried out some of those duct-tape escape methods I learned last night, with me just giggling like an idiot. Breaking it with your hands tied in front is suprisingly really easy (put your hands above your head, then bring them down really fast)_ _, though pulling the tape off does sting. The legs trick was also easy, but I couldn't break it behind my back. I blame my sister not tying it tight enough, as I was just able to slip my sweaty hands out. We ran out of duct tape before I could try it again._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoy this latest installment of "The Struggle is Real"._

* * *

Shawn's whole body tensed as he stared at the floor, inches away from his face. In a instant he scrambled to his feet with a stupid grin plastered onto his face, trying to ignore the way his leg gave way under him, forcing him to grab the edge of a table. His heart seemed determined to break out of his ribcage. Only the fire in his leg kept him from bolting.

"Oh, hey, Bree. I was, uh, just about to come and tell you I've decided to take the case." He kept his voice light, his tone casual. Then the dam broke and the words came spewing out of his mouth, almost before he could realize what he was saying. "But um, am I going to get paid for this? Because Gus' been whining about how we're behind on our payments and that they, the phone company and electric company and whatever, are going to shut off all our power and-"

Brienne jerked his hand off the table, twisting his arm up his back. At the same time she kicked the back of his knee. The one on his bad leg.

"Down."

For the second time Shawn's face smashed into the floor. Dizziness swept over him, making the tiles tip dangerously.

"Ow?" It came out as a question. He really didn't know if anything hurt more than it did before.

"Civilization is seven miles away, psychic. Don't even think about running," Brienne said. He felt her knee dig into the small of her back and winced, laying his cheek against the cool floor. It felt good, soothing even, to his aching head.

Once again, darkness fell as she placed another blindfold over his eyes. As she did, Shawn realized it wasn't so much that she didn't want him seeing anything, it was more of a show of power, another reminder of how vulnerable he was.

"You've got no shoes, no phone, you can barely walk-"

"And there's no car in sight," Shawn finished. "Well, actually, for me, nothing is in sight right now. Physically, I mean. Now, psychically-"

"That's not even a word," Brienne snorted, and a second later ropes bit into his wrists, forcing them together behind his back. Then she grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet with a surprisingly strong grip.

"Come on," she said. "I'm taking you to see your new roommate." She snaked an arm behind his back and tried to yank him forward, but Shawn pulled back, letting out a gasp.

"Wait. Wait a second, I'm getting something. He-no, it's a she, a... wait, why am I getting steak. A sandwich steak? With cheese. Phil... Philadelphia... no. Filly. Horse. Dark, black as... Midnight. Oh... poor girl. She's been hurt. Abused. But you, you somehow have won her heart back, just like ol' Jim Craig and his prize colt." He grinned. "Well, at least we know there's one creature on this earth you don't hate."

Her nails dug into his arm, and he could only imagine the kind of face she was pulling.

"Seriously, you've never seen _The Man from Snowy River?_ What kind of horse lover are you?"

Brienne didn't answer, just pulled him forward so hard he almost fell down.

"Woah, easy there," Shawn said with a wince. He knew he was pushing it, but he wasn't about to just meekly give in either. Brienne hadn't got the best of him, not yet.

He heard the creak of a door opening, gravel under his feet. The heavy squeak of a large door being slid open, dust and dirt, the thud as it slammed shut. The musty odor of horse and hay tickled his nose.

"Sit."

Brienne pushed him down into what felt like a metal folding chair and he let out whooshing breath. The pain was so bad he actually felt a little lightheaded.

"Mind taking the blindfold off?" he asked. "Or is it just that dark in here?"

"You said that you could see things... psychically. So, what do you see?"

Shawn was quiet for a moment. He could hear the rattle of the roof at every slight breath of wind, making it sound almost like it were raining. He heard the crunch of an animal chewing, the thump as they stamped their hoof on the ground, the swish of a tail.

"It's an old stable," he said. "Run down, rusty roof, probably some bird poop here or there, some cobwebs. You've done a pretty good job of Midnight's stall though. Speaking of, the old girl's enjoying a nice lunch of hay right now. You usually keep her in the pasture during the day, but you decided to bring her in to show her off."

"Nicely done, psychic." Brienne's voice carried the the implication of being mildly impressed.

Psychic. The word grated in his ears, and his hands clenched behind his back. Was this what she wanted? For him to be her personal pet psychic, blindfolded and led limping about, solving cases at her every whim?

The chewing stopped, a small huff reached his ears.

One hand gripping the back of the chair, Shawn stood up and took a step forward, reaching out his hand. "Hey girl. You've seen better days, haven't you?"

A muzzle jerked past his hand, another huff, this one louder.

"You were right about her being abused," Brienne said. He heard the thump of her boots, her quiet reassuring words to the horse. "She's been through a lot. So-" her voice dropped to a growl, "you so much as raise your voice around this horse, and so help me I _will_ shoot you again."

"Alright, alright," Shawn said, though a slight chill ran through him at her words. "But, speaking of shooting, how did I get shot in the leg, and... am still alive? Wait, that sounded weird. How-"

"Fragible ammo," Brienne said. "Designed to prevent ricochet, and causes less damage than a normal bullet. I was careful not to hit any of your major arteries. Didn't even break the bone."

"Still hurts though," Shawn said with a groan.

Brienne let out a loud sigh. "No... really?"

"Yeah, really. Really bad. Anyways, do you have anything to eat around here? Wait. The walls, they smell of... vegetarian. Lots of fruit, but... sadly, no pineapples. What a sad, sad life you must lead."

"There's much worse things in the world than not having pineapples," Brienne said. "C'mon, I'll take you to your room."

"But about the case," Shawn said after he was shoved down in another chair. "Um, it helps for me to have something of his. An object, maybe something he liked a lot. Oh. I know! Photos. If you can't get me any stuff, get me photos. Lots of photos of his apartment would be good. I find they can often be quite talkative."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Oh, and... I hate to be a bother, I really do, Bree. But it's a bit hard to work with both hands tied behind my back. Literally."

He felt her fingers fumbling at the knots and let out a slow, careful breath. For a second he embraced the feeling of freedom, then winced as the tingling began.

"Now hold out your wrists."

Shawn bit back a groan, but did as he was told, careful to keep his elbows by his side. Still, she pulled the rope so tight Shawn was sure his circulation was being cut off.

"I'll be right back with some food," she said, and Shawn heard the slam of a stall door. A second later he heard the clop of Midnight's hooves as Brienne led her past him, back to the pasture. Midnight...

"Wait!" he called after her. "Don't I get to talk to the horse? I think she may have some valuable insights on this case."

The hoofbeats paused.

"Like I'd let you go near her, _psychic_."

 _The bang of her gun._

 _The splatter of blood._

 _The agony that followed._

Shawn jerked his eyes open, gasping. Deep shudders ran through his body as he stared down at his leg, almost lost in the darkness of night. Again and again he felt the impact of the bullet slamming into him. Shawn laid a trembling hand over the wound, as if to offer it protection from the bullet, but all he could see was Brienne's face as she fired her shot into his body.

 _Stop it,_ he cried wordlessly.

But it wouldn't stop.

Again, and again, and again.

For a second he was five years old, and all he wanted to do was call for help from his daddy.

No. He was Shawn, Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic of the SBPD. And he was going to get out of here.

Somehow.

 _"Don't escape until the time is right."_

His fathers words came floating back to him, and Shawn gritted his teeth. How could he know when the time was right? He was locked in a frickin' stable, tied to a chair, his only company a horse. How was he supposed to walk seven miles back when he could barely limp from one side of the stable to other?

Except... maybe he didn't have to walk back. Maybe someone would be willing to offer him a ride.

Shawn brought his elbows together in front of his and began rubbing his hands together, trying to pull one out of the now-slightly-less-tight rope. The ropes bit at his bare wrists and he was sure that by the time he was done, he'd have a pretty good rope burn. He paused for a second to rotate his hands, twisting the rope to create more slack, then he was back at the rubbing, until one of his hands finally slipped out.

 _I guess one of your lessons really did come in handy, Dad,_ Shawn thought, stretching out his cramped arms with a grimace.

The ropes that bound each ankle to the chair legs were easy to untie. Obviously, Brienne had never joined Girl Scouts.

Shawn heaved himself up and began hobbling towards the walking stick Brienne had lent him with all the grace of a lame cow. Barbs of pain shot through his leg at every step.

 _Almost there..._

He half-lunged, half-fell towards the staff, missed, and landed heavily on his side, his pounding brain ready to break out of his skull.

"Don't think I don't hear you laughing, Midnight," he said, and groaned.

After the pounding subsided, Shawn reached up and gripped the staff with both hands, feeling as if he were drowning in the ocean, and this was the only lifejacket.

Seconds later, the stall door slid open.

Even though he knew they were locked from the outside, Shawn still raised a hand and tugged half-heartedly at the main door. Yep. Still locked. Still trapped.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn caught sight of a large stall, stuffed with hay bales. Beside it was a sort of room, it door leaning haphazardly in its frame. At the push of his fingertips the door swung wide, screeching in protest. The single lightbulb burst to life, causing Shawn's eyes to close before he even told them to. When he opened them again he saw it was mostly empty: some bins, a strange sort of bridle, missing that metal bar that went in the horse's mouth, ropes, and a bright yellow phone hanging on the wall.

Shawn blinked. It took a moment for his numb mind to register the importance of this discovery. He lunged forward, almost falling down again, and yanked the phone off it's cradle and to his ear.

Nothing, not even a dial tone.

Still, Shawn tried punching in the first few numbers for the police station, before letting the phone drop from his fingers. He let out a curse and briefly considered ramming his fist into the wall. Of course it was broken. That would have been too easy.

Why couldn't the brilliant Lassieface and the rest of the SBPD just find him? At this rate he was going to turn as moody as Lassie.

"C'mon, Shawn," he whispered to himself, mimicking Gus' voice. "It's not like Clint Eastwood was able to just walk out of Alcatraz. No one would have wanted to see the movie. Think, Shawn. What would Skip and Harry do?

"Seriously, Gus? I thought you hated _Stir Crazy._ And since when did you start referencing old movies?

"Since you started talking to yourself.

"Fair enough. But still, those guys were trying to escape from prison, not a kidnapper. Plus neither of them had an injured leg.

"Shawn, remember that pineapple smoothie. The only way you're going to get it is if you get out of here.

"Alright, alright. You've convinced me. Thanks, Gus.

"You're welcome, Shawn."

Time to move to Plan B.

Shawn flicked off the light and stepped back into the aisle, whistling softly. He turned his head and saw Midnight with her head over the door, the blackness of her coat nearly lost in the blackness of the stable.

"Hey girl, how you doing?"

Ignoring the barbs of pain, the fake psychic limped over to her, digging out the apple he had saved from earlier. Midnight stepped back, drawing back into the darkness of her stall, but her ears pricked forward.

"Alright then, if you're going to be like that I'll just eat the apple," Shawn said, and took a bite.

Midnight huffed softly, stretching her nose forward.

"Oh, so now you want some," Shawn said with a grin and another bite. "Too bad."

The mare stretched out her muzzle an inch closer, her nostrils widening. Shawn held it out, and after a moment's hesitation Midnight's teeth closed over the remaining apple.

"That's it, girly, nice and easy," Shawn said, watching as Midnight bobbed her head up and down, spit and apple juice running out of the corners of her mouth.

"You know, Midnight," he said. "I've never really been around horses that much so"-he lowered his voice-"just between you and me, I pretty much have no idea what I'm doing."

Midnight let out a small sigh.

"I know, I know!" Shawn said, lifting his hands up, then dropping them. "I'm clueless. The only other time I've worked with horses was that one case with the racehorses. My old 'pal' came back, asking me if I could talk to some of his horses to figure out what was wrong, why they kept losing. Obviously, I couldn't actually talk to them, but! I still solved the case. Sorry, that was a bit insensitive, wasn't it?"

Midnight simply looked at him, her ears twitching back and forth. Slowly, ever so slowly, she inched her nose toward his hand, which was draped over the stall door. The thought of lifting his hand had barely crossed Shawn's mind before Midnight jerked back.

Shawn groaned. "Aw, Nighty, please don't be like that. We're like Andy Dufresne and Ellis Redding. Prisoners, together!"

The horse went back to her haybag, nibbling at the few remaining wisps of hay.

"Well, I guess I can't blame you for not seeing _The Shawshank Redemption._ You really should, though." He carefully leaned against the stall door, then said, "So you like listening to my stories, ey? Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from. Like the time me and Gus decided to become bounty hunters..."

Light was beginning to spill through the cracks in the walls by the time Shawn dragged his aching self back to his cell. He was pretty sure Midnight had just dropped off halfway through. He would have done so himself if the pain had just _quit_ for half a second.

Only the first day, and he was already beaten, shot, and bruised. And tired... so very tired. With weary hands Shawn picked up the pieces of rope, then dropped them back on the ground. Wait. First he had to do something.

Shawn dug his thumbnail into the rotting wood of the door, leaving a mark. One. The first day of his captivity.

Hopefully there wouldn't be many more.

Hopefully.

* * *

 _A/N: And there we have it! I hope you enjoyed my references! I literally just looked up "Escape movies" and then picked the ones closest to the 1980s. Never seen any of them except "The Man from Snowy River"._

 _Until next time, my good readers..._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: As per IlluminatiGirl's request, I went ahead and added a short scene with some of the other characters at the station, which was fun, plus it's a good setup for the beginning of the next chapter. I just wish I could have somehow added McNab in, because he is hands down my favorite character in Psych. I love all the characters, but man, I just have such a soft spot for the sweetheart._

* * *

"Mr. Guster, I can assure you we are doing everything we can to find Shawn." Chief Vick set down her papers and walked briskly out of her office, Gus trailing behind like a lost dog. "But he's only been missing for 24 hours."

"But don't you always say that the first 24 hours are the most dangerous?"

"Yes, but if he survives that, he's very likely to survive the rest of his stay. And I have to admit, the man does have a knack for surviving. Anyway, what I mean to say is that we've been working on this for a very short amount of time. At this point we have almost no leads. The only thing we know is that Ms. Anderson and Mr. Spencer both disappeared last night. Mr. Spencer sustained an injury, most likely not fatal, was dragged off into a vehicle and... gone."

"So she kidnapped him?" Gus asked.

"It's likely, but it could also be that they were kidnapped together."

"But what about the fact that there are no records under the name Brienne Anderson? Did you even do a background check on her before calling her in as a witness?"

"She might have changed her name on account of her being on the run from someone, and the kidnapper took Shawn as well. As for being a witness, her account was minor, what we thought was the final piece in solving the case," Chief Vick said, but her gaze dropped to the thin case file she had picked up. "If you want to make yourself useful, leave us to do our work and see if you can pick up anything yourself."

The door slammed behind her.

Gus bit his lip as he stared down at the details. Last seen at the Psych office. He just had to leave early that day... didn't he? He should have offered Shawn a ride back to his apartment, but instead he'd left his best friend stranded.

"Hey, Gus."

Gus turned to see Juliet standing behind him, her lips lifted in a sympathetic smile. "How are you doing?"

"Alright," Gus said, but he had to fight to keep his voice steady.

Juliet reached out a hand to lightly touch his arm. "I know you feel responsible. But Gus, you have to believe me, it's not your fault. It's none of our faults."

"The Chief said you didn't have any leads."

"Not yet. But trust me, Carlton and I are putting all our energy into it. It's the first time I've actually seemed him almost... worried about Shawn."

"Can I help?" The question seemed to blurt out of his mouth on it's own. "I mean... do you think I could offer my assistance?"

No hesitation. "Of course. Right now, we're combing through security footage of the night he disappeared, and could really use an extra pair of eyes. Plus, you know Shawn better than any of us," Juliet replied. "Chief Vick did just hand you the case file, after all. Follow me."

Gus gave one more glance down at the case file, then started after Juliet.

 _We're going to find you, Shawn. Just you wait._

* * *

"So, have you figured anything out yet, psychic?"

Shawn cracked an eye open, then yawned so wide he figured his jaw was about to break. It took a minute for his eyes to focus, and when they did, he saw Brienne. Horsehair clung to her jeans and bits of grain and slobber to her sleeves. Light speared through the cracks between the planks of wood, causing the tendrils of pain in his head to tighten their grip.

"Nice ride with Midnight this morning?" Shawn asked, stifling another yawn. His back was so stiff and sore that even the small movement of yawning hurt. He made a small mental note that metal chairs made terrible places to sleep. Maybe he could convince Brienne to give him a sleeping bag and let him have the floor.

"Yeah, she was good. Seemed a bit more slow than usual today. But that's off topic. I asked if you've gotten any work done."

"Well, I'm getting the feeling Steve was actually planning to leave for a while. Pack up and just start a new life somewhere else," Shawn said.

"That information doesn't help me, psychic. I need to know _where_ he went."

"Hey, didn't anyone ever teach you the phrase 'patience is a virtue'?"

"When I was four." Her eyes narrowed as he yawned again. "Have you been sleeping all morning? It's almost noon."

Shawn shrugged. His head and thigh throbbed in unison. "Have to say, a psychic's work is pretty exhausting."

She dug an orange out of her pocket and tossed it to him, then followed it up with a water bottle. "I thought you might want something to eat. Tell me if you find anything more."

Shawn caught it in his hands and watched her disappear out the door. He was actually glad she hadn't brought him anything more. His stomach still felt queasy from that knock on the head she had given him. With a grimace, Shawn raised his bound hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. How much longer until he could get some painkillers, an asprin, _anything_?

The wound on his leg was beginning to smell. No, his entire body was starting to smell. But especially his wound. Cautiously he reached out and touched the days-old bandage with the palm of his hand. It felt warm, but that could just be because his hands were cold.

Well, there was one more test he could try. Shawn pulled back on the edge where his jeans had been cut to get a look at the wound. Red streaks were extending from under the bandage, down towards his knee. Shawn felt his stomach knot.

Definitely infected.

 _Well, I_ _don't_ _feel feverish or anything... so it couldn't be too bad... right?_ Shawn thought, heaving himself up and digging his thumbnail into the wall, next to the two other marks.

Midnight was waiting for him, as always. She tossed her head and let out a low, gutteral sound, almost like _nuh huh huh._ It wasn't exactly a neigh, almost closer to a growl, but still sounded warm and inviting.

"Hey, Nighty girl," Shawn murmured, a small smile tugging at his face. "Ready for another round of 'The Great Adventures of Shawn, Head Psychic of the SBPD'?"

Midnight snorted.

"What do you mean, more like the only? I prefer the term 'first'." He stifled a yawn. "Might have to cut this one short. Getting shot kinda takes a lot out of you. But, I have to say, I kinda like these midnight talks we've been having. Nice to have someone who doesn't mind my 'incoherent babbling', as Lassie calls it. So thanks, Nighty."

Shawn closed his his hand into a fist and reached forward. For the first time, Midnight didn't pull back.

Shawn's hand froze a few inches before her muzzle, letting Midnight decide.

"C'mon girl, don't leave me hanging," he said, his voice no more than a whisper.

After several seconds, or maybe a couple hours, Midnight bumped her nose against his hand. He opened it and let his fingers spread over her muzzle, her whiskers tickling his palm. It was warm, so warm, and it felt like the softest velvet. Her big brown eyes looked into his; her hot breath seeped into the cracks between his fingers.

Shawn rubbed his hand up and down her face, feeling a wide grin spread over his own.

 _Score_.

* * *

Shawn blinked slowly, trying to process what Brienne had just said over the roar of pain that nearly covered his whole thigh. Something about a pineapple...? No, no, she didn't like pineapple. Probably something about Steve. How she was disappointed in him. That he hadn't solved the case yet. Pffff... as if he, the great psychic Shawn Spencer, were that slow.

He let his eyes drift to the boards in front of him, where five marks stared back at him. Five marks that were about to become six. A chill swept over him, so cold he almost started shaking. It quickly was replaced by a wave of heat that made him feel like his entire body was on fire.

 _Almost out,_ Shawn reminded himself, taking a long breath. _I'm almost out._

Late last night, or very early that morning, Shawn had cautiously slid his aching body onto Midnight's back. He had felt the muscles in her back tense, and she turned her head to stare at him, but, thankfully, she hadn't thrown him off. So he just sat there for a while, patting her neck, telling Midnight about the one other time he had sat on a horse. How he'd had no idea what to do. How he had no idea what to do now.

Midnight stood perfectly still, her head slightly drooped, her ears turned back towards him. Shawn had been able to feel every little movement, when she took her weight off a back hoof, when she twitched her tail. It had actually been pretty cool.

"Psychic!" Brienne snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Focus."

Shawn pulled his head back slightly, nearly going cross-eyed as he tried to focus on her hand, hovering inches before his nose.

"Did you hear any of of what I just said?" Brienne asked, crossing her arms.

Shawn gave a small shake of his head, too tired to reply.

"Alright, so I went and talked to the bartender, like you suggested. He confirmed that Stephen had been there a couple days ago, muttering something about going to 'a land where the trees ran red,' after he'd had a couple drinks." Her voice deepened into a growl. "What did he mean by that?"

"You knew him better than I did," Shawn replied with a shrug.

"Yes, but I'm not the _psychic_ , am I?" Her voice was sharp as broken glass.

"Woah, woah, woah," Shawn said. "How about we switch it up, and I get to ask a question." He shifted his gaze to look into her dark green eyes, his own squinting. "How do you do it? How do you take that great, big beast and make it do whatever you want?"

Brienne let out a sigh, her posture relaxing. "It's a partnership. Yes, you're the boss, but it's still a partnership, almost like what they have back at the police department. You trust and respect one another. Horses are eager to please, and once they know what you're asking, what you want them to do, they do it. Most of the time. They still have their off days, just like us."

With Brienne, it seemed to Shawn that every day was an off day.

"I was kind of more asking how you ride, but, yeah, that's cool too. Wait. I'm getting something." He touched his finger to his temple. It didn't look quite as cool with bound hands, but he somehow made it work. "You ride different than most. No saddle, no bridle... wait. Yes for bridle, but a very special type of bridle... the name is escaping me right now."

"Hackamore, or bitless bridle," Brienne cut in. "Puts pressure under the jaw and on her nose instead of in her mouth. When I rescued Midnight, her mouth was so broken I... never wanted her to have to use a bit again. The bareback's just a personal preference."

"So... howzabout I get to see you in action?" Shawn asked, rubbing his hand over the bandages on his leg. He winced. Ouch. "Show me how you do this... partnership."

Brienne let out a snort, sounding remarkably like Midnight. "Alright. Fine." She bent down, untied the ropes that bound his ankles, handed Shawn the walking stick and disappeared out the stall door.

By the time Shawn stepped out, she was already on Midnight's back, hackamore in place. Shawn narrowed his eyes, studying the hackamore, how it fitted onto Midnight's head.

 _Focus_ , he thought, as his vision blurred slightly. Once again, chills swept through him, and his grip on the stick tightened.

"The commands are simple enough," Brienne told him. "Squeeze your legs to go, pull back to stop and gently pull on the rein with your left or right hand to turn." Her left hand barely twitched back, and Midnight turned to the left. "Of course you should also squeeze with your outside leg and push their hip over with your inside leg, while looking where you want to go. And always remember to sit up straight, line up your ear with your hip with your heel, keep your arms in, let them move with the horse, _always_ keep your heels down-"

"Uh huh," Shawn muttered, watching as Midnight walked up and down the length of the barn. She talked too fast. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Except-

Shawn yelped and staggered against the wood. Midnight threw up her head and skittered sideways. Brienne glared.

"What did I tell you about raising your voice?" she growled.

"I'm sorry, it's just, Midnight, she talked to me!" Shawn gasped. "She said she's seen a place where the trees run red."

"...Where?" The word dripped out of her mouth.

"It's... m... maple..." Shawn scrunched his eyes shut, then opened them. "She's gone."

Brienne let out an exasperated sigh and slid of Midnight, brushing past Shawn as she stomped towards the horse's stall.

"Hey, let me stay in the stall next to her tonight. If I can get close to her, who knows, maybe she'll tell me."

Brienne stopped mid-step, her back to him. "I know what you're trying to pull, psychic."

Shawn scrunched up his nose. She did?

"You're trying to be all interested in my horse so that we can 'bond' together and I'll go easier on you. Not. Going. To. Work." She spat out each word.

Which was why he had never put much faith in that plan.

"Alright.. you got me." Shawn gave her a lopsided smile. He could feel his heart thumping hard against his chest. With each minute that passed, it felt a little harder to breathe. He needed to get out of here.

"But I wasn't kidding about staying next to Midnight. By morning, I should have the answer for you."

"I'm tired of waiting. When tomarrow morning comes, if you don't have the answer, I will make life very unpleasant for you."

As if it wasn't unpleasant enough already.

After Midnight was settled in her stall, and Shawn in his, after his wrists and ankles had been tightly tied with rope, after Brienne had left the barn, Shawn spoke.

"Jules. Gus. Chief Vick. Dad. Even old Lassieface. I get to see them soon."

For a second the flashes of hot and cold were replaced by a pleasant warmth as Shawn imagined himself riding up the the Psych office. Of seeing his friends and family again. Of being... safe.

Midnight stuck her nose through the bars and huffed at him, almost begging to be petted. Shawn reached up his hands and stroked her nose.

"Tonight, old 'Nighty girl, we're going home."

* * *

 _A/N: Ooh, I keep forgetting. I drew a picture of Brienne and Midnight. Here's the link (minus the spaces): http_ _: / / fav . me/daaqdao_

 _And while we're on that, what do you guys think of Brienne? Does she make a good antagonist?_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N:_

 _Jennifer (Guest): I can remember the first story I reviewed I stayed up all night to finish it, then I was like "Hey, I should leave a review."_

 _Eheheh, you should be more worried about Brienne. But yeah, Midnight's supposed to be mostly Fresian, which is my absolute favorite breed of horse._

 _Anyway, I'd just like a moment to say THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed, faved and followed. I was so worried no one would read this and I'm blown away by the response. :D_

* * *

Almost everyone had left the station by now, with only a few night duty officers left.

Gus rubbed his eyes as the letters on the computer screen blurred. Usually he'd be doing this at the Psych office, but it was still taped off as a crime scene. And although Shawn probably would've had no problem with it, Gus just didn't feel comfortable working in the place where his friend had been kidnapped, at least while said friend was still missing.

He missed Shawn. He missed them solving cases together, annoying the heck out of Lassiter, refrencing obscure 80s movies. He even missed sharing the Blueberry with him.

"Have you got anything yet?"

Juliet shook her head, then covered her mouth with a hand to hide her yawn. Then her eyes widened and she sat bolt upright. "Wait. Wait a second. I'm getting something." Her fingers flew over the keyboard.

"You sound like Shawn."

Juliet ignored him, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Katherine Carther."

"Who?"

"It's Brienne's real name." Paper went flying as she bolted up out of her seat. "We need to find Carlton. Now."

A rock dropped into Gus' stomach. "Juliet, what's wrong?"

"I think I know why she kidnapped Shawn. And-" She quickened her pace. Gus almost had to run to keep up.

"What?"

"He's in way more danger than we thought."

* * *

Shawn let out a loud groan and slapped his hands down into his lap. He'd been working at the ropes that bound his hands for almost five minutes and the only thing he'd gotten was a rope burn and numb hands. He hadn't even touched the ropes on his legs and he still had no idea how to open the main doors. Have Midnight kick them down? Find some bolt cutter somewhere?

He raised his wrists to his mouth and used his teeth to finally pull the first loop of rope over his hands. Another heat wave washed over him as he did so. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and he didn't even want to know how badly he smelled. He wondered how Bree was able to put up with him. Another loop pulled over, another rush of heat that left his head spinning, and he slipped his hands out.

Within seconds his hands began tingling as the blood began rushing back into his fingers. Shawn gave a grimace and rubbed his hand but the needles just kept stabbing.

When it subsided and the heat waves turned to chills, Shawn turned his attention to his legs. His shaking fingers fumbled with the knots, then they were untied.

Deep shudders ran through his body as he stood up, the ground unsteady beneath him. When had everything become so blurry?

 _C'mon... Shawn... hey, that... rhymes... sort of._

The stall door felt like it weighed at least half a million pounds, but he somehow managed to wrench it open. Now where was the hackamore kept again?

The door slammed open and light stabbed into Shawn's eyes as the bulbs burst to life. Midnight let out a loud neigh and half-rose into the air. With a gasp he staggered back against the stall door, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Get away from her, psychic."

Something cold and hard shattered into the side of his face, ripping the skin just below his eye. The impact knocked him down into the dirt.

Dimly he heard Midnight squeal, her hooves banging against the stall door.

Shawn cracked his eyelids open just in time to see a boot swing towards his face to smash into his nose. Hot blood burst out, running over his lips and dripping off his chin.

Brienne. Fury radiated off her body like the heat radiated off his.

"Um... Bree... I wasn't..." he began, trying to edge away.

Brienne's face hardened into a snarl. "Everything's just a game to you, isn't it, psychic? The crimes, the little 'mysteries' you solve-it's all some game."

She kicked him in the stomach.

"Newsflash, _psychic_. People get _killed_."

Her voice cracked, and she kicked him again. And again, and again.

"People you care about."

The breath was knocked out of his body under her blows. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't even gasp out a perfectly logical explanation of why she should _please, stop._

Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, it stopped. A small whimper escaped his lips between the wheezing breaths as he curled up with his arms wrapped around himself, his knees in front of his chest, begging her silently to _please_ not kick him again.

She didn't.

The click of the hammer sounded like an explosion in his ears.

"Y... you're... t-talking ah-about... y-your brother... right? He... was killed." Shawn forced the words out of his mouth, lifted his head to stare down the barrel of her gun. "His name was... B... Ben...?"

Brienne's hand was shaking. She raised her other hand to the gun, steadying it. "Why else would I choose the name Brienne? My brother is dead. He's dead and you killed him."

Shawn stared at her, everything she had said, everything he'd found suddenly falling into place. He remembered. "Oh..."

He'd only been working with the SBPD for a month. He'd tracked the killer down, only to find him about to shoot an innocent man with the name of Ben. Shawn had barely gotten two sentences out before the man fired directly into Ben's chest. Shawn could still see the look of shock on the young man's face as he went flying backwards into the muck. The crazed man would have shot Shawn too, if Lassiter and Juliet hadn't arrived when they did.

By the time it was over, the man was down with a bullet in his arm, Shawn had a graze on his arm, and Ben was dead. Because Shawn had gotten way in over his head. Because he just didn't know when to stop talking.

He'd remembered hearing about a sister, but didn't have the heart to look into it. He, Lassiter, and Juliet never spoke of it again.

"I'm... I'm sorry... Katie."

It was the only thing he could think to say. It was all he could say.

"Don't you dare call me that name after what you did," Brienne choked out. "At-first I-I thought, maybe if you feel some of the pain that I did, it'd be worth it." Tears streamed out of the corners of her eyes. "No. I hated having to see you. All you were was a reminder. Which is why-"

She took a step forward, then another, until the gun was almost touching his chest.

Shawn said nothing, just slowly let go of himself and raised his hands in surrender. Long shuddering breaths ran through his body as he waited for her bullet to enter his body. There was no mistaking the look on her face, streaked with tears though it was. This time she would shoot to kill.

"I don't want to kill you. I've never killed anything before!" she gasped between sobs. "But my life has turned into a living nightmare, and this is the only way to wake up."

"No... Katie," Shawn whispered, barely able to hear himself over the sound of his heartbeat thrashing on his ears. "It's not. This... isn't what... Ben would have wanted."

Brienne smacked her gun across his head, making black dots cloud his vision. "Don't tell me what he would have wanted!" she said. "You didn't know him and you don't know me. You don't know what it's like. For so long, I was numb. I couldn't feel anything. But having you around, teaching you about Midnight, you, Shawn Spencer, made me remember just how far I've fallen. I miss him." Her face crumpled, her voice dropped to a whisper. "I miss him so much."

The gun slipped out of her trembling hands, landing with a small thud on the dirt. "Get out of here," she said. "Get out of here before I kill you."

The main door slammed shut behind her.

Then silence fell, and pain crashed back into his body like a thousand pound weight. Shawn gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms tighter around his broken body. Every inch of his body throbbed as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, blood dripping onto the dirt beneath him.

"H-h-help..."

Bile rose up in his throat, and before he knew what was happening, his stomach emptied itself in front of him. The taste of acid burned in his mouth. Sweat dripped down his face, running into his cut and mixing with the blood. The stench of his puke and his wounds were almost too much to take in.

Shawn moaned.

 _Someone, please... help me. Help._

Part of him wanted to just let his body pitch forward and sleep and sleep and never wake up.

Gus. Jules. Chief Vick. Mom. Dad. Lassiter.

He repeated their names over and over, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, his unsteady breathing.

And Shawn. Shawn Spencer.

He slid over to the wall and let his back slump against it. His head dipped down to his chest as he closed his eyes.

 _I'm so sorry, Katie. I'm sorry I couldn't save him._

He didn't know how long he was sitting there. He didn't remember getting up, or grabbing Midnight's hackamore, or the box to stand on.

The next thing he knew, he was on Midnight's back. The horse was breathing almost as hard as him, her ears flicking back and forth as she tossed her head.

"Easy... girl," Shawn said, reaching down his hand to rub under her thick black mane. She felt like silk. Her ears turned back towards his voice and she lowered her head, stepping out of the barn.

 _The commands are simple enough: squeeze to go forward, pull back to stop._

He felt the horse's sides expand as she took a breath of the clear early morning air. Mist hung thickly over the ground, but he could just make out a dirt path leading deeper into the forest. Shawn grabbed a handful of the mare's mane, brushing his bare heels against her side. He could feel each hoof as it stepped forward, farther and farther away from captivity.

Finally.

He was free.

Shawn felt a wide grin spread over his face, as he looked out to the pines, birds calling to one another from among their branches.

Free.

It was almost enough to distract himself from the odd patches of color that began covering his vision.

* * *

Shawn blinked, staring up at the big black nose that kept pushing against his face. Where was he? Why did everything _hurt_ so much?

The horse made a sort of growly noise and shoved it's nose against his cheek. That hurt.

"Ow!" Shawn yelped, flinging himself up. The movement made his head spin and he held out his hands for something to grab. Which way was down, again?

Pine needles and dirt bit into the uninjured side of his face and the ground wacked against his bruised ribs. Shawn closed his eyes, took a breath and pushed himself up, slower this time. He swayed, then reached out and grabbed onto the trunk of a pine. With the other hand he held his pounding head, shivering.

Midnight snorted and danced a few feet away. Midnight. Brienne's horse that he'd stolen. Oh, she was going to be so pissed about that.

"Sorry, Nighty," he croaked, holding out a hand. "C'mere, girl."

Midnight took a step forward, then another, her nostrils widening.

"That's it, c'mon," Shawn said, inching his fingers closer. "Please."

She stretched her nose forward, her whiskers brushing against his fingers.

"Good girl. You... know this is... just like the one scene... where that one horse comes... and rescues... Aragorn. You wouldn't... mind... kneeling down for me?"

The horse just looked at him, then sniffed his arm.

Shawn gave a weak, wheezing chuckle. "Thought so."

He reached out and wrapped his arm around her neck, taking the weight off his leg. A quick glance around showed him no fallen trees, no large rocks, not even a deus ex machina box step on. There was no way he'd be able to climb back onto Midnight.

"Let's go, Midnight," Shawn said. With his arm still draped over the horse's neck, he took a step forward, his injured leg dragging uselessly behind him.

They walked on through the forest until it began to blur into a green smear before him. They could be walking in place for all he knew. Rocks dug into the bottoms of his feet. Shivers wracked his body. His breathing came jerky and uneven.

 _Burton Guster. Chief Vick. Juliet o'Hara. Carlton Lassiter. Mom. Dad._

He had to... keep going... had to... stay... awake...

 _I'm sorry._

His grip on Midnight's mane slipped. His legs crumpled like pieces of string.

 _I can't do this anymore._


	6. Chapter 6

_Spencer?_

The voice was gruff. It was coming from a long... long way away.

 _Spencer, c'mon, wake up._

He didn't want to wake up. He was so tired...

" _Shawn!_ "

Shawn's eyes flew open. The ground tipped underneath him and he moaned, trying to curl up into himself. It felt like someone was shoving a red hot poker into his leg, and every breath sent lashes of pain across his ribs.

"Easy, Shawn," he heard Lassiter's voice come to him.

Shawn let out a shaky laugh. "You... just called me... Shawn." His laugh was cut short as chills gripped his body, leaving him trembling.

"Just take it easy there," Lassiter said. "Now, what on God's good earth happened to you?"

Kidnapped. Shot. Beaten. Shawn didn't reply. Instead, he just stared into the forest, watching the shadows on the ground sway with the wind.

"You look awful, Spencer. Even worse than usual."

Shawn simply let out a small "heh" as Lassiter grabbed him under the arms, helping him sit up, his back against a tree trunk. He glanced down and saw that Lassiter's coat hung loosely around his shoulders. Lassie, who went berserk if even a smudge of dirt got on his tailored coat, had given it to him. Just how pitiful did he look?

Shawn's small chuckle turned into a wheeze. His breath jerked in and out of his body, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't-

"Breathe," Lassiter told him. His grip on Shawn's shoulder tightened. "Don't talk, just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Shawn did as he was told. He stared out at the forest, staring, but not seeing.

"How'd... you... find me?" A word, a breath, another word.

Lassiter scowled at him, but said, "Some hiker stumbled across you. Freaked out, thought you were dead and called the police. I happened to be in the area. The others should be here in a minute or two." A pause, then, "He also said there was a horse with you."

"Midnight," Shawn murmured. Keeping his eyes open was so much work...

"Stay with me, Spencer." Lassiter snapped his fingers in front of Shawn's face and the fake psychic flinched.

 _Psychic! Focus!_

She had never really believed he was psychic. She mocked him with the title. Ever since she had kidnapped him, that was all she had called him. Psychic.

Suddenly, Shawn didn't feel so bad about stealing Midnight. But speaking of, where was she?

"Nighty... girl," Shawn croaked. It felt like someone had taken a handful of gravel and shoved it down his throat. "C'mon, don't... tell me... you've left... me."

"What...?" Lassiter's voice trailed off as Midnight stepped out from among the trees, her hooves thudding against the dirt. She pushed her nose against Shawn's face, and he reached up a hand to rub her cheek before it flopped back to the ground.

"Lassie," he said, a lopsided grin working its way onto his face. "I found you a pony."

* * *

It felt like he was lying on top of a giant marshmallow. A very comfortable marshmallow. Not sticky at all, just soft.

Shawn took a breath of the clean, pure air, then let it out. His body felt incredibly heavy, much to heavy to move. He tried to blink open his eyes, but...

"Take your time, Shawn. No need to rush."

It was his dad's voice.

"Where 'm I?" Shawn mumbled. His mouth felt numb, like he'd just gotten a shot of novicane.

"Hospital. Better get used to it, 'cause you'll probably be in here a few days."

"Better than being locked in a stable," Shawn said, but groaned anyway.

He cracked open his eyes. Soft green walls stared back at him, along with some flowers and a pineapple resting on a table, which he had to grin at. Sunlight filtered through a small window. An IV was attached to his arm.

"How are you feeling?" Henry asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"Kinda crappy, but better." Shawn flexed his hands and felt a twinge of soreness, but the fever was gone, and whatever painkiller they were giving him was enough to douse the fire in his leg. A light bandage had been wrapped over the burns on his wrists. It felt so good to be able to move his hands.

"I'm not surprised. You almost died back there."

Shawn looked up from his hands. "I did?"

"Your infection spread through your bloodstream, causing your immune system to go into overdrive and start attacking your body. The doctors call it sepsis. You were at the last stage before organ failure when Carlton found you. Not to mention bruised ribs, concussion, broken nose..."

As he listened to his dad's words, one last small shudder went though him. He'd made it. He was safe now.

"Well, sure makes for an interesting story to tell on dates," Shawn said. "Hey, what happened to Midnight?"

"Who?"

"The horse. She's the reason I got back at all. I was kinda... out of it after, uh, _Lassiter_ found me."

Henry shook his head. "I didn't hear anything about a horse."

Shawn let out a groan and slumped back. _Hopefully she's not just running around in the woods. After all she did for me, she deserves better than that._

* * *

"The horse is fine," was the first thing Lassiter said when he walked in the room. "She slobbered all over my shirt, and nearly tore my arm out when the ambulance arrived, but she's fine, at a shelter for the time being."

"You should keep her, Lassie."

Lassiter jerked, one eyebrow nearly shooting up past his forehead. "Keep her? If you haven't forgotten, I am the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police, I have neither the time or-"

"And I'm the Head Psychic of the SBPD," Shawn said, touching a finger to his temple and half-closing his eyes. "And I'm sensing you like this horse more than you're letting on."

"Right, now I thought I'd let you know that some of the other officers went back up the path and found a house. Unfortunately, Katherine Carther wasn't home."

Shawn leaned back, scratching at the bandage on his nose. His words came out slow, flat. "I'm getting a feeling she might just show up, looking for Midnight. Oh, and if you're still looking for Stephen 'Scarface' Conners; the spirits tell me he's in a place called Maple Run."

"I'll get on it. I'm... I'm glad you made it, Spencer," Lassiter said, and turned to go.

"Hey Lassieface," Shawn called after him. "Thanks for the coat."

Lassiter turned. "Don't mention it. Ever."

* * *

"Gus, say what you want, but don't you dare say-"

"I told you so."

" _Guuuuus_!" Shawn whined.

Gus settled himself in a chair and crossed his legs. "That's it, Shawn. No more going on dates."

Shawn snorted. "Oh, so you're like my dad now? I'm not a teenager anymore."

"I'm just glad you made it." Gus reached out an squeezed his shoulder. "I got a bit worried when Juliet mentioned your... previous experience with her brother. We all got a bit worried."

"Me too," Shawn said, his grin slipping. "There were times..." his voice trailed off.

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

Shawn hesitated, then shook his head. "Not right now. Not yet." A smirk slid onto his face. "Well. I did have a pretty badass escape. Riding on the bare back of a horse, black as midnight, through the misty morning air. Oh, and her name's Midnight. You should really meet her some time. She thinks I have great hair, and I have to agree." He held out his fist. "To a badass escape."

Gus bumped it. "To a badass escape."

* * *

"Shawn," Juliet said, her eyes soft. "You're okay."

"Well, mostly okay," Shawn said with a shrug, then held out his arms. "C'mon, bring it in, Jules."

With a smile as bright as sunshine on a clear day, Juliet stepped forward and very gently wrapped her arms around his bruised and battered body. Shawn closed his eyes and hugged her back, practically melting into her arms.

Safe. He was finally safe. He was finally back with his friends and family, finally healing instead of hurting. In just a few days, he'd be back with a vengeance at the Psych office, ready for new cases, new "visions."

And he'd finally gotten a hug from Juliet. There was just one thing missing.

Shawn drew back and smacked his forehead. "I can't believe it! I can't believe I forgot to tell Lassie!"

Juliet looked at him, her eyebrows drawing together. "What, what did you forget?"

Shawn leaned forward, and grabbed her hand, his eyes staring into hers. "I need you to tell Lassie that he owes me the biggest pineapple mango smoothie in all of Santa Barbara."

THE END

* * *

 _A/N:_ _I hope you didn't mind my little "flash" scenes with the different characters on the end. They were fun to write. ^^_

 _And I purposely left Bree's fate open-ended, though I like to think she got Midnight back and tried to start a new life somewhere else. But I don't know for sure._

 _Anyway, thank you all again for reading and reviewing! I loved talking to all of you! I'm not sure if I'll be writing another Psych fic, but I'll be keeping my eyes wide open for another idea, so you may just see me here again some day. :)_

 _Cheers!_


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